


Once a Year

by compilemyvile



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Christmas, French Jean is my favorite Jean, French-Speaking Jean Kirstein, M/M, christmas jeanmarco, cute Christmas houses, eyyy, it's cute, love me, revolves around a christmas village, this is my favorite thing okay, this is pretty much pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compilemyvile/pseuds/compilemyvile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once a year Jean's mother sets out her village of Christmas houses, but when she acquires a new one Jean meets the cutest little figurine. And it turns out that that figurine isn't the same as the numerous other ones that line the fake snow lined streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once a Year

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://kirschtingyou.tumblr.com)  
>  This is actually a prompt I posted on tumblr and fell in love with ^^  
> I'm a sucker for mini-Marco <3

Colmar was a town with a friendly atmosphere that was unmatched by none, the air would always radiate such warmth that it was a wonder how any body could hold such gloom over their heads. But Jean managed it. The riverfront offered little room to breath, a small boy stuck shoulder to shoulder with his seniors’. Houses in this area weren’t much different, the wall of one was the wall of another, the only part bearing the harsh winter wind was the front and the rear. Close proximity was just one small displeasure Colmar’s citizens had to bear, though no one openly scorned it.

Course fingers from years of needlework clutched at the unwieldy tin box that were commonly known to be filled with cookies during Christmas time, almost rhombus like in shape, Jean couldn’t seem to get a very good grip on it. He ducked low to avoid the severe winds, his feet stumbling across the lazy brick work as he searched for a steady foot hold. Everything about this city screamed comfort, Jean liked to call it the city’s natural laze, even the bricks of the streets were lined with an ease that was almost uncanny, though this style always made for lifted corners and skinned knees. 

Twinkling Christmas lights of every color and shade lined every single house and storefront, sending everyone into the holiday frenzy. Even Jean couldn’t be his usual _ba-humbug_ self with such glorious lights shining back in his eyes. Lips twitching, he had to force them not to break out in an all out smile, pressing them until they were nothing more but two bold lines against his face. 

“ _Jean!_ ” An accented voice called out to him, breath scratchy from the dry air. 

Jean didn’t turn, he didn’t even pause. People knew how he was, but adored him anyway. Jean’s attitude wasn’t scorned or even openly mocked, but rather it was adored by friendly faces. A strong hand clapped his shoulder and a warm voice spoke out, low and tinged with a happiness that didn’t seem to fade away even if his wife couldn’t reproduce the son he so craved, nothing could bring Erwin Smith down. “I thought that was you.” Erwin conceded, stopping Jean in the middle of the ever growing passer byers, who only seemed to multiply as time went on. “How’s your mother doing?”

This was all small talk, always tinged with eyes flicking away and a strained smile. Maybe there _was_ something that could lessen Erwin’s happiness, the loss of my ever bulbous _Papa_. He was a kind man, with crinkled eyes when he smiled and a loud, warm laugh. If anything he was the embodiment of this rare city. But he met a cruel fate, staring down the eyes of cancer _Papa_ just couldn’t pull ahead. Jean used to think his _papa_ could face anything, but that fantasy died off with the man the boy used to deify. But those days were gone and these days only brought responsibilities since Jean was the man of the house. Responsibilities that included braving the cold to pick up something for his _maman_ from a nearby friend. 

Jean knew the drill and just like always he let loose a laugh and rubbed his hand against the cropped brown hair that hugged his head like a velvety blanket. “She’s in heaven. You know how _Maman_ is during Christmas.” And that was the truth, Jean’s _maman_ always had a soft spot for the extravagant holiday, going all out with decorations and deserts and, Jean’s favorite, presents. But what that meant this year was longer hours and drooping eyes at the breakfast table. Jean worried but any time he brought it up his _maman_ battered him away with an affection kiss and a shove towards the door, telling him he better get going if he wanted to finish his errands _and_ get to school on time. It wasn’t Jean’s place to worry for his mother, but he couldn’t help it. She was all he had left, so that brought chewed nails and sleepless nights as he waited up for the front door to slide shut quietly when _Maman_ got home from her night hours. Only then could Jean sleep soundly. His health didn’t suffer, but his heart always gave a pang when _Maman_ tip toed into his room to ghost her lips over his exposed forehead. He wished things could go back to how they used to be. _Maman_ was the overly affectionate type, she used to spoil Jean rotten, and not to say she doesn’t anymore, but money was tight and time was precious, so kisses and cuddles were saved for when they were needed most. The problem was that, apparently, they were only needed in the wee hours of the night. And then Jean couldn’t detect his mother’s sobs, he was too busy dreaming, floating up above the clouds with _Papa_ at his side.

But, Jean’s niceties worked, not that he had any doubt that they wouldn’t, Erwin’s smile only widened at the news and he grinned and winked like they were sharing a secret. “Don’t I know it.” Erwin sighed out, almost wistfully. Jean’s _maman_ really was something to behold, with loose curls that encompassed her face and pretty pink lips stretched into an endless smile, no man was immune to her charms. Erwin was happily married but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find a woman beautiful, in fact, his wife and _Maman_ had been the best of friends since they were in diapers, so she didn’t mind in the least, _Maman_ was not a threat to her marriage. “Oh.” Erwin murmured, blinking at how he’d been side tracked, very easy with the subject of _Maman_. He rummaged through his light brown rucksack, fingers calculating past each object before his hand closed around a box. “Would you give this to Émilie for me? I promised her a new one.” Erwin deposited the box over the tin in Jean’s already heaving hands and he clutched the objects tightly to his chest, taking the job of not dropping anything seriously. “I think she’ll like it, she told me she’d been searching for the perfect one- saying it’d add to the mystery.”

Jean simply nodded, he adored his mother and her decorations but he just could not bear to actually be engaged in a conversation about them. He got that enough at home, having sat through story after story, even having to sit in to his _maman’s_ murmurings to herself as she strategized where the best place would be for each piece. Needless to say, Jean grew weary of the holidays rather quickly. But that fatigue always melted away instantly when presents greeted him every Christmas morning.

“Merry Christmas, _Jean_!” Erwin spoke cheerily, the brightness of the holiday clearly evident in his voice, it was a wonder that Erwin wasn’t one of those mall santas. Jean wouldn’t put it past Erwin if he actually owned a perfectly tailored Santa suit. 

Erwin was already waving and taking his leave when Jean replied, but his voice rang clear over the mutterings of others. “Merry Christmas, _Monsieur_ Smith!” Jean’s voice rang out, almost seeming to echo down the endless corridor known as Colmar’s house enclosed pavements.

**—**

Jean was greeted at home with the smell of fresh bread and his ears assaulted with his _maman’s_ joyous singing. “ _Vive le Vent! Vive le Vent! Vive le vent d'hiver. Qui s'en va siffl—.” Maman’s_ pitchy voice rang out against the rough woodwork of the kitchen, her lyrics catching and bouncing through the low set chimney.

Against his better judgement, Jean laughed, catching his mother in the middle of the chorus of _Vive Le Vent_ , the French version of jingle bells. _Maman’s_ round face peeked around the kitchen divider, which was just a loose sheet hung from shitty thumb tacks,. “I’m just home from break, _cher_!” She hummed, the adoration rolling off her tongue with ease. Jean didn’t even bat an eye anymore, loving the way the word curled around his heart and gave a squeeze. 

He ghosted into the kitchen, his feet sliding across the smooth floorboards as his socked feet transitioned from carpet to wood. “Erwin gave me something for you.” He announced, setting down his gatherings but scooping up the box that made up the tier of his findings. 

_Maman_ absolutely beamed at the news, gracefully carrying her away from her masterpiece known as her slathered honey and jam bread with a side of golden brown ham that sizzled in the heat. She gathered the box into her arms and sighed wistfully, hugging the bulky object to her cheek. “Oh, _cher_!” She exclaimed, in her usual upbeat fashion. Jean smiled a gentle smile he only reserved for his mother, his eyes drooped with affection and his chin turned up to watch his _maman’s _excited face. “Do you know what _this_ is!” Jean didn’t, but his mother wasn’t expecting an answer. He may of been apprehensive to let Erwin tell him about a Christmas object his mother held so dear but that didn’t mean he’d turn down an opportunity to hear his mother rave before she had to return to work. “ _This _,” She started, sweeping her hands over the ridges of the box, holding it as if it were actually her child and not an object that would end up being nothing but crap in a couple years time. Not that Jean would actually say that, he would never say anything to lessen his mother’s happiness. “is a Psychic's shop.” Declaring proudly, she pulled the clunky Christmas house from it’s comfy home in the bubble wrap lined package. It was absolutely gorgeous, white lights lined the edges and in the tiny glass window a glowing blue crystal ball could be seen. A boy sat in front of it, his dark, tanned hands ghosting over the glowing entity in a rehearsed fashion. The boy was beautiful, he was so detailed he seemed to come to life in the dim light known as Jean’s kitchen. Freckles dusted his little painted nose and fell in streams across his cheeks, a few dramatically lining his eyebrows. His lips were perfect, if lips could even be classified as perfect, they were small but perfectly situated with the lower one more plump than the upper, it gave him a sort of pout as if he didn’t enjoy what the ball showed him. Jean’s pudgy fingers tentatively prodded at the glass. The boy seemed to move but Jean wrote it off as a trick of the light, it was simply a figurine after all.____

____“Woah.” Jean breathed, his eyes wide with amazement. His hands couldn’t touch enough of the gorgeous building, his fingers splaying over every inch of it. It didn’t scream Christmas as _Maman’s_ other pieces did but it held a distinct magic element that Jean completely adored. If he had to pick one of his favorite pieces, it would have to be this one. An understated Christmas house. _ _ _ _

_____Maman_ smiled adoringly down at her amazed son, pressing a kiss to his head. She set it among the others, right in between a bookshop and the bakery, both a lit with an outrageous amount of Christmas lights and annoyingly large wreaths adorning their store fronts. The Psychic shop didn’t have any of that, just it’s brilliantly white lights. But in a way it outshined every house situated in _Maman’s_ little town, shoulder to shoulder just like our own Christmas town. _ _ _ _

____“Perfect,” _Maman_ murmured to herself, giving it a tentative tap before turning back to her motherly duties. Scooping up some deliciously juicy ham and slathering a piece of bread with an unhealthy amount of honey and jam, she set out a place for Jean on the little table they always used during Christmas when the houses took up every available space at the originial table. _ _ _ _

____“ _Je t’aime, cher._ ” _Maman_ murmured soothingly, pink lips caressing blonde locks in an affectionate gesture of motherly love as Jean happily munched at his provisions. As a boy of no more than ten he enjoyed simple dinners like this, not caring for extravagant dishes unless they were accompanied with a sweet bread. _Maman_ laughed adoringly at her son, wiping a bit of stray honey from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be home after you’re in bed, which better be at nine, _mister_ ” She chastised him lightly, her eyebrows downturned but her upturned lips caused her angry look to be lost in a sunshiney expression. “If I have to, I’ll have _Monsieur_ Ackerman keep an eye on you. And believe me you do not want that.”_ _ _ _

____Jean’s eyes widened. Their neighbor was a short firecracker with enough anger flowing through his veins that he could easily handle a brat like Jean without even having to lift a finger, just a dark look was enough to send Jean scuttling to bed. “No! No! Please, _Maman_ , I’ll be good I promise.” And he wasn’t lying, the last time he caused his _maman_ any unnecessary strain was before Jean had awoken in the middle of the night, catching _Maman’s_ sobs through the thin walls. Since then Jean made sure to be a good boy, never straying from his mother’s wishes unless directly told so. _ _ _ _

____Jean smiled owlishly at his mother, “Unless Connie comes over because in that case..” He trailed off, flicking his eyes in the direction his words easily flowed off to._ _ _ _

____Tutting at him, _Maman_ placed her hands over her slim hips. “You inherited your _papa’s_ sarcasm, I swear to god sometimes I can’t deal with you two..” A darkened expression and the twisting of her hands in her light purple apron silenced any back talk Jean could rile up. He wrapped an arm around _Maman’s_ legs, the only part of her Jean could reach while stuffing his face with goodies. _ _ _ _

____“Je t’aime, _Maman_!” He said instead, grinning up at her like he was up to no good. Which he never was, but he needn’t worry his _maman_ with that. _ _ _ _

____He earned a soft smile, _Maman’s_ lilth fingers brushing back his messy hair. “You need a haircut.” She mused, in usual motherly fashion. Jean didn’t reply, he liked it long and had no intention of cutting it. A gaze skittering off towards the direction of the clock and before Jean knew it he was pulled from behind into a warm embrace. “Have fun, _cher_ , but not too much fun, do your homework!” She reminded him, saying what she said every time she had to leave him. The atmosphere turned melancholy whenever they said their farewells but Jean was okay with that, he just wanted his _maman_ to be okay._ _ _ _

____“Night, _Maman_.” Jean murmured, saying his good night's since they wouldn’t speak to each other until the next morning. _ _ _ _

_____Maman_ was gone all too soon and Jean was left in the aftermath of his mother’s warmth and her beloved, seasonal houses glaring back at him. Jean could of sworn that he saw the gaze of the Psychic's rich brown eyes flick away when he looked over, but if he had, then he had more mind trouble than he originally thought. And that was saying something. _ _ _ _

______ _ _

**—**

Multiplication was hard, Jean decided after several misguided attempts at finishing his maths worksheet. He never did like numbers, they always bounced around his brain wrong. Now, history he had an eye for, though the actual dates of battles always eluded him, _fucking numbers_.

Heavy a hefty sigh, he gave up, pushing away from the little card table with a grumble. He was glad he didn’t live in a large house because being home alone all the time caused loneliness to stir in his gut and a bigger house would just increase the feeling. Besides Jean loved his homey cottage, even if the hallways were narrow and the ceilings were low. It made him feel big and every little boys’ dreams always revolved around them being larger than life, Jean was no exception. His sleep filled nights were full of being larger than life, a giant on the speck known as Earth.

Thoughtfully he ventured over towards the table that held the little Christmas town, his fingers lazily strolling the streets as if they were a person that belonged in the scene. He smiled. He was bigger than something, he may not be the biggest kid in his school and he may not stand out in a crowd, but at least here, at home, in this little town, he was bigger than the average person and that lit a fire under Jean’s smile. 

He slid into a chair, choosing to watch the twinkling lights of the Christmas houses instead of finishing his homework. They didn’t have cable, so their t.v. sat gathering dust in the corner of the living room, clothes thoughtlessly strewn over it. Television wasn’t needed in their house, all they needed was each other. And evidently all Jean needed was his imagination.

Closing his eyes, he could imagine himself a pedestrian strolling the perfectly uncrowded streets of the Christmas village, his hand forever upturned in a friendly wave to the stagnant passer byers. His smile never drooped even though there was never a reply, he didn’t need one, this was his town, his space, his home. It was odd that Jean felt so blatantly at home in a made up town with made up people, but, in the end, Jean had no control where he felt the best so he gave up arguing with himself. It was simply meant to be.

**—**

Feeling so at ease, Jean had fallen asleep with frozen friendly faces smiling at him from the fake snow lined streets.

 _Maman_ awoke him when she returned home, shushing him quietly as she guided him off to bed, ignoring his apologies. His unfinished homework lay strewn across the card table, but it was ignored by both of them. Instead Jean curled up in bed and dreamed of sparkling brown eyes reflecting the dim blue glow of a crystal ball.

**—**

School wasn’t something Jean enjoyed, with having to wake up early and being surrounded by obnoxious children it just wasn’t Jean’s cup of tea. Swallowing around a mouthful of stale bread, his _maman_ ushered him out the door, with promises of seeing him when he got home. Jean wouldn’t hold his breath, he knew _Maman_ had to work, but he couldn’t help the spark of hope that lit in his stomach.

Between loudly worded lessons and Jaeger’s big mouth Jean developed his usual daily headache, grunting every time Eren yelped out an unnecessary question. But he wouldn’t say anything, he’d promised _Maman_ last week when he stuffed a crayon up Eren’s nose, _he totally deserved it_ , that he’d play nice when it came to the riled up brunette boy.

And play nice he did, even offering up a half hearted smile which Eren narrowed his eyes at him, thinking Jean had an ulterior motive. Jean didn’t, he was only ten after all, he had no evil plots, _yet_. Who's to say he wouldn’t be an evil plotting teenager? .. Well, _Maman_ hoped he wasn’t, she had her hands full with her riley little boy enough as it was, her hands were literally overflowing with his messy existence. Not that she’d ever call it that. Jean was her lovely little boy and it would be left at that.

Recess was a bore, consisting of nothing more than Connie’s weak attempts at getting him involved in the common playground game of kickball. But the team that was missing a player was Eren’s, _screw that_. He said he’d play nice with the kid, not do something as ridiculous as become the little monster’s _friend_. In the end Jean declined, multiple times, so many times he stopped being polite and simply shouted at Connie to go away. He did, much to Jean’s dismay. He didn’t actually mind Connie pestering him to play, in fact, it made him feel wanted, _needed_. It made him feel like he had a place among others, not just inside the stagnant Christmas village. 

He felt more of a pull to the little town now that that Psychic shop sat directly in the center, it had always felt like it was missing something, but now it was perfect.

**—**

After recess Jean was met with more lessons, maths, _Jesus Christ_ , and a little Sasha doodling all over his papers, which he didn’t mind so much. Her drawings were always so graphic with red men catching planes in the sky and crushing them in their bare hands, accompanied by her sound effects of flapping lips as she doodled.

Jean walked home like always, stopping to buy a cheap treat at the local bakery, munching as he walked in the door. Immediately bolting to the Christmas Village he dropped his book bag at the kitchen entrance and sunk into his usual seat. “Hello, Mikasa.” Jean greeted a brunette with a long red scarf wound around her neck, and her gloved hands pressed together in front of her mouth to fend off the cold. “How’re you today?” He murmured, propping his chin upon his singular hand, his eyelids lazily dropping, giving her glistening hair a single stroke with his pointer finger. “Mine was alright, maths sucks though.” He pouted, slumping completely on to the table, crossing his arms against the hardwood. “Madame Zoë just doesn’t understand.” Sighing, he stared at the female figurine that stood directly in front of him.

Jean played favorites with the people in the town, giving them all names and carrying out conversations with them as if they were real people. But, sometimes, when you’re lonely you take whatever company you can get. And Jean was definitely lonely. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

“That’s good,” Teeth showing, gaps and all, he replied as if Mikasa actually said something. But then his expression sobered and he gave Mikasa’s stand a little push with her finger, moving her just a little bit to the right. “Is it bad if you’re my only friend?” Voice low and tone pathetic, he avoids the figurine’s endless black eyes, choosing instead to stare into the book store’s storefront, neatly decorated with tinsel for the holidays. But to be fair, it was always the holidays in this little town. 

Brown eyes, browner than winter jacket fleece or warm hot cocoa, stirred behind the book shop. His eyes blinking, his gaze unwavering, but his presence evident. Jean startled, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at the little man who’d been in the Psychic's window just moments before, he _knew_ he _checked_. “W.. what?!” He stammered, mouth agape in an expression that could be considered horror and amazement. If not for his childish imagination Jean would think that he must be hallucinating but with little feet tentatively sliding forward and a small hand pressed to Jean’s lowered nose it only solidified the fact that this was real, this was happening. The figurine smiled, an open mouthed smile, though he lacked all his teeth. It was still absolutely adorable and his freckles played peek-a-boo beneath the creases his smile created against his porcelain skin. 

Jean just stared, mouth finally closed, but eyes stuck onto this figure. Mikasa was long forgotten.

The figure opened it’s mouth, lips moving together as if it were speaking but all Jean could detect was a small sound that could be mistaken for a long squeak in the floorboard. The figure’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the plastic-in-nature hairs not rustling in the slightest but rather pushing together. 

In a moment of brilliance the figure held up a hand as if to tell Jean not to go anywhere, _like hell he was going anywhere_ , and scampered off to some unknown destination. Jean didn’t follow him with his eyes but rather stared, flabbergasted, at the space the figurine had just occupied. This had never happened before, if it would had he would of.. Jean’s eyes immediately shot to Mikasa, hoping against hope that somehow the psychic's magic, _it must be magic_ , had rubbed off on her. But no such luck. She was still as lifelessly still as when their conversation had been interrupted by a nosey psychic. 

The figure appeared, moments later, a cone like shape in it’s hands with _Christmas!_ written over the side. Jean recognized it as one of the Christmas cheerleader’s props from the other side of the town. No wonder the little guy was huffing and puffing so much, he’d just ran what was probably a half a mile for him. 

Holding the cone to his lips, they moved again, this time sound coming out. His voice was high pitched and almost unpleasant but still Jean listened. What else are you supposed to do when your decorations come to life. “Hello.” Was all that the little guy said, his voice cracking as if it hadn’t been used in decades. Jean realized it probably hadn’t. Was this what _Maman_ had meant when she said it’d liven up the village? Probably not. Moving it’s lips again, the voice seemed detached as it floated from the cone up to Jean’s ears and he couldn’t help but cackle. “Why are you talking to an object?” It was ironic really, this guy was obviously referring to Mikasa, but with the confused look that spread over it’s face it obviously didn’t understand the irony. But Jean did, oh did he. He was crazy, he must be. But it was happening and he wasn’t allowing himself to doubt it. Maybe now he could have a genuine friend. 

“Hi.” Jean greeted, the figurine wincing at how loud he was being. So, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper he tried again, “Are you magic?” 

The thing laughed, squeally and high, but the sound was still pleasant to Jean’s ears. It was odd, if anybody else sounded the same way he’d be flinching but with this little guy in front of him he felt at ease, even allowing the corners of his lips to turn up. God, he was screwed.

“No.” Came the squeaky reply, slipping from the plastic of the cone and wrapping around Jean’s ear drums soothingly. “I’m a Marco. A Christmas Marco.” He stated, throwing his arms up for emphasis. 

“Your name is Christmas?” The freckled figurine shook it’s head. “.. is your name Marco then?” Again it shook it’s head. Jean scowled, then what in the hell did it mean? “What is your name?” He tried, hoping that _name_ was a word in it’s vocabulary.

It looked up at Jean inquisitively, cocking it’s head to the side in a way that was so god darn adorable Jean felt himself flush. Okay, so this _thing_ , this _Christmas Marco_ , had no idea what a name was. “Okay. Well, I’ll call you Marco.” Jean decided and Marco appeared pleased with this decision, nodding hurriedly, though the gesture seemed slow when it reached Jean’s eyes. “You can call me Jean.”

“Jean.” Marco murmured, pursing it’s lips around the sound and Jean smiled despite himself, enjoying the way Marco’s squeaky voice languidly pronounced his name. He was saying it just a bit wrong, with a strong _J_ instead of the soft, French _J_ , but he could let it slide just this once.

“Are you Pyschic?” Jean couldn’t help but ask and was met with the shaking of Marco’s head. Marco only spoke when he had to, even with the help of the cone he had to shout and it was wearing his voice hoarse. “Then what are you?” Jean could feel himself getting frustrated but Marco flung out his arms and embraced the tip of Jean’s nose, beaming up at Jean as he crooned into the plastic cone. “I’m Christmas Marco!”

And Marco declared it so sure of himself, so happily, that Jean couldn’t bring himself to dispute it so he just laughed and shook his head. “You sure are.” He stated, his statement just as sure as Marco’s. Marco smiled like that. And soon he was demanding to show Jean around the town, he could see everything from where he sat but he stood and allowed Marco to hold onto his large pointer finger, guiding him around the town as he circled the table with Marco. He had to shuffle his feet, barely taking a step each time so that he could match Marco’s pace but it was worth the thigh cramps it brought. Marco spoke into the cone, his voice cracking more and more as he continued to speak, but he insisted on telling Jean about every building in his new home and Jean listened like a good little boy. Marco finally let him go when it was nearing nine, _Jean realized he skipped dinner_ , and waved Jean down to his height. Scuttering nearer to Jean, he pressed a kiss to Jean’s already heated cheeks and dashed away, back to his Psychic shop where his form froze once again, though this time his cheeks were tinged a pleasant rose and his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. 

Jean went to bed that night, snuggled under his covers, and for the first time instead of wishing to be a giant, he wished he was as small as Marco so that he could walk the badly lit streets with his new friend with ease. But, in the end, his old wish was recognized. He was a giant, to Marco at least. He was noticed and he was cherished and his company was thoroughly enjoyed.

**—**

Marco was Jean’s secret. It was an odd concept for the small boy, having always shared everything with everybody. He was a bragger to put it bluntly. Everyday, on his _maman’s_ break he’d tell every detail of his day. But this was different, this felt special. This felt like something that should only be shared between two.

**—**

Jean soon realized that Marco’s toothless smile was his new favorite thing. Everytime the little boy ran up to Jean in greeting with his eyes a lit and his lips upturned Jean couldn’t help but radiate.

No longer thinking of Marco was a _thing_ he was a boy, though if he was biologically a boy Jean had no clue. You could not pay him enough to shove down Marco’s itty bitty trousers and check. Nuh-uh. Not a chance, bud. 

Their interactions were sweet and only lasted a few hours before Marco had to go and sit in front of the glowing orb again, but everytime he bid Jean farewell it was with a kiss and a smile over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. Jean absolutely adored that little boy.

One thing Marco didn’t like was being lifted. Discovering this led to a yelp and bitten fingers, _boo-boos_ if you will. 

Jean smiled at Marco and bent down for a little kiss just like any other day, but this time his hand outstretched for Marco to sit, his fingers bent in a sort of chair. Eyeing the seating choice carefully, his little feet scuttled over hand wrinkles to take his rightful place on Jean’s finger. When Jean lifted Marco yelped and clung on for dear life, using his toothless mouth as a binding agent to the skin. Jean was startled, but so was Marco. And that ended Jean’s fantasy of having Marco sit on his shoulder and whisper into his ear.

**—**

_Maman_ had to work on Christmas, her favorite holiday of the year. Jean did his best to not have his face fall as he bid his mother farewell but when the door clicked shut Jean’s emotions were in uproars. Christmas was the only day Jean had his mother to himself and now he didn’t get that. “ _Maman!_ ” He whined helplessly, pouting as he slid down the door into the mushy snow shoes always left in their entrance.

He sniffled. He cried. He wailed. All actions of a ten year old boy who was to be left alone for Christmas.

His tears drew attention from a distinct little boy and Marco stood by Jean’s feet. Wide brown eyes stared up at the wet drops that ran down pale, plump cheeks. A sniffle. Another. “..Jeanbo?” Marco questioned, hesitantly. Ever since he’d overhead _Maman_ using the adorable nickname that was the only thing that Marco would address Jean as. 

“M..Marco..” Collecting himself, he rasped out the former’s name and slid onto his chest so his eyes were level with Marco’s, almost. “You’re early.” And that alone made Jean’s Christmas ten times better.

Marco tentatively smiled and reached out to wipe away a tear but was only doused in a downpour. He blinked and Jean snickered, Marco resembled a drowned rat. 

Nuzzling into Jean’s warm, damp cheeks, Marco sighed happily. “Merry Christmas.” Jean’s eyes slipped closed lazily and Marco’s lips came in contact with his, Jean kept his still, not wanting to crush the little boy’s perfectly sculpted lips. From day one that had been Jean’s favorite feature.

“Marco.” He breathed, warm breath embracing Marco’s fluttery heart. “You’re the only thing I need for Christmas.”

At this Marco gave a smile, his perfectly brushed eyelashes blinking against Jean’s, the hairs becoming entangled in one another. “And you have me, I promise you have me.”

**—**

Nine years only brought Jean his own home and adult responsibilities. Being a fatherless child had been more stressful than this. So, Jean was prepared. He was prepared to be alone. Not planning to settle down or move from Colmar, just in case it was the magic of the town that had his little Marco waking up every December first. He was happy and that was the only thing he could ever ask for.

Hanging mistletoe had always been Marco’s favorite thing. Even though that since they’d first met Marco had grown, now taller than Jean’s palm, he couldn’t reach it’s resting spot on the ceiling. Though ever accepting Marco had grown accustomed to Jean lifting him, he couldn’t go without lifting the cute little bugger. 

Marco stuck out his rough tongue, capturing it between his lips as he leveled the mistletoe, balanced on his tippy toes. “Got it!” He sing songed. Wasting no time at all, Jean swooped him down. His hand dropping out from Marco causing him to squeal but soon enough he was wrapped up in Jean’s strong arms, embracing Marco to his chest. With a wiggle he crawled up, standing on one of Jean’s protruded collar bones as his caretaker beamed down at him.

“Hey Marco?” Jean stage whispered, eyes widening dramatically.

“Yeah?” Marco’s deepened voice murmured back, no longer sounding like he’d just inhaled helium.

“We’re under the mistletoe.” Jean grinned wickedly. And before Marco could protest warm lips were assaulting him everywhere. Laughs tore their way from Marco’s throat as the little boy could do nothing against the taller’s affection but enjoy it.

Marco hummed happily after Jean had ceased and pressed a kiss to Jean’s warm lips. Their lips were better suited for each other now, Marco’s took up more space. They were still too tiny, but they were softer than anything Jean had ever felt. But he adored them just the same. Secretly, he harbored a hope that over the years Marco would continue to grow. But only if Marco wanted that and he had a sneaking suspicion that little Christmas incarnate loved being so small and cute.

“I love you, Jeanbo.” He hummed, his hair caressing the underside of Jean’s chin as his tiny arms embraced Jean’s neck affectionately.

“You too, _mon amour_.” 

“Say it correctly.”

Marco was a demanding little thing, but he loved hearing Jean speak French and as English spread throughout the country Marco heard it less and less.

“ _Je t’aime, mon cher_.” Jean murmured in reply, stroking his chin over Marco’s soft doll-like hair. “More and more every day.” Apparently those were the exact words Marco wanted to hear because his lips met Jean’s once more. Their kisses were awkward and felt nothing like a normal kiss. But they were sweet and innocent and everything Jean loved in the world. They were different, but their entire relationship was different. 

Only seeing Marco for a month out of the year was hard for Jean. Seeing all the couples holding hands and engaging in affectionate actions in public just made him crave Marco that much more. Sometimes he became jealous and actually wished for Marco to be as large as everyone else. But he quickly burned the thought, Marco liked being small and Jean loved Marco. Marco would never be someone he could show off to everybody, he could never be normal. In other’s eyes Marco wasn’t even real, but that was okay because he was real enough for Jean and that was all that mattered.


End file.
